


lights go down and I hear you calling to me

by thornclaw



Series: Lark Trevelyan [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Battle Couple, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25584046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornclaw/pseuds/thornclaw
Summary: Just felt like doing another piece on a soft moment between Bull and my Trev. Also I've never written a fight scene before so I apologize in advance for how terrible it is, any constructive criticism is welcome :). Title and intro lyrics are from "Right Now" by One Direction.
Relationships: Female Inquisitor/Iron Bull, Iron Bull/Female Trevelyan
Series: Lark Trevelyan [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1909447
Comments: 7
Kudos: 15





	lights go down and I hear you calling to me

**Author's Note:**

> And we won't be going home  
> For so long, for so long, but I know,  
> I won't be on my own, on my own

The cry was strangled, dragged roughly out of her throat; it caught on her lips as it was pulled from her, flecks of blood fleeing with it and meeting a spray of scarlet from the archer’s opened chest—the drops forget their allegiance as they’re spilled, mingling as they marred the leaves of an oak. The man fell, twitching, as the red dripped from the branch with the morning dew.

A hoarse shout of victory with no glory in it; the glory was leaking out of her side where his hidden dagger had caught her by surprise. The blurs of sounds and colors became even more desperate and bewildered as she swung her head around. The flash of an axe’s arc was dazzling in the afternoon sun, the relief of seeing its wielder grounding her, the oversaturated colors reverting as her other senses cleared. She grabbed a handful of leaves and pressed them into the fissure formed in her armor—a futile attempt to cover the wound—as she forced herself to raise her sword and shield.

The great axe swung again, fearsome but blind, oblivious to the shadow that is almost real behind it. Another pair of daggers seek to exploit, and she begins to run, the sodden scarlet leaves peeling away from the gash in her side. They lay crumpled and broken on the ground, wounded by and soaked in the pain of others. She slides beneath the deadly curve of the axe’s path, guarding the qunari’s back.

“Behind.” Nothing in response, no need.

Without his helmet the shadow is laid bare, his face manipulated into a mask of rage nurtured from pain—the pain of fighting his own countrymen forged into the hatred he held against her now. She strikes out with her shield, unbalancing him; a single thrust from her sword through his exposed throat and the shadow falls, the blind mask of fury slipped from his face as his eyes darkened. Gore splattered her heart-shaped face; golden strands were plastered to her pale forehead.

The axe stills behind her. She breathes deeply, counting in her head. Six dead Orlesians, and another battle finished. Giddiness washes over her and she leans against the muscled back of the Iron Bull, the heat of their adrenaline-filled bodies just south of unbearable.

“You all good, kadan? Thought I heard you take a bad hit.” His voice was rough, the sweetness marked by scars that only served to heighten it.

Lark opened her mouth to answer, no longer lightheadedly joyful but gripped with pain. “Bastard stabbed me. My own fault, I left my flank open—stupid mistake. Don’t tell Cullen, I’d take another dagger before I sit through one of his sparring sessions.” She slid to the ground, gingerly peeling away the single leaf clinging to the hole in her side. Bull sat beside her, wiping the sweat-soaked hair from her forehead as Dorian and Solas joined them.

“Inquisitor, I hope you’re not disparaging our dear commander!” Dorian teased as he handed her a health potion. “Such infighting could be serious enough to be the eighth biggest scandal of the month—should it come to blows you could even beat out Corypheus in the Orlesians’ rankings!”

Lark laughed. “What do you think I’ll do, beat him with that stick he keeps up his ass?” She gasped as she tried to sit up. “On second thought, if a lecture on weight distribution in combat keeps me alive long enough to actually beat Corypheus it may be worth it.”

Bull’s eye lit up as he looked at her. “Stabbed or not, that move under my axe was _awesome_. It’s good thing you’re not any taller, kadan. You can do some weird shit, but I don’t think that anchor could put your head back on.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was headless? I’m slightly offended.”

“I know I don’t say it often, but I like your head attached to you.”

“I love when you become a sappy romantic. At least I know you’re not using me for my body.”

“I’m no necromancer but I bet even headless the rest of you could still—”

Solas made an exasperated noise. “Lest you forget others are here. Inquisitor, I believe it would be for the best if you cared for that wound before any more…extracurricular activities. And perhaps in our next encounter such an injury might dissuade you from throwing yourself back into the thick of the battle.”

Lark nudged him gently with her foot, careful not to reopen the lesion, now slowing to a trickle. She grinned as he huffed with frustration; he reminded her of a tutor she’d had when she was younger, an intelligent man who had always seemed torn between utter exhaustion and affection towards her. “What fun would I be if I thought sensibly all the time? You have common sense enough for the both of us. It’s why you’re my tenth favorite thing about the Inquisition!”

“This is clearly a setup for one of your jokes, so I will simply take it as a compliment and ignore the rest.”

Dorian rolled his eyes but coughed to hide a smile. “Probably for the best. I have a sneaking suspicion the punchline about the other nine variables involves some of those extracurricular activities you mentioned.”

***

Lark lowered herself into the warm bath, letting out a shuddering breath as the water lapped against her sore limbs; they’d only just returned from the Exalted Plains, and the ride back to Skyhold had reopened the stab wound. She carefully took the rag laid over the lip of the tub and dabbed at the dried blood crusted on her side, letting out small whimpers of pain, her movements disturbing the water. _Memories of the fight rippling in the water…Varric should totally use that in one of his books. After we take out Corypheus I should definitely try writing those romance novels Cassandra loves._ A cold night breeze whispered into the room from the open balcony door, threatening the gentle flames of the candles flickering in the dark.

“Fuck!” Lark squeezed her eyes shut against tears as her finger slid into the gash.

The sound of the door to her quarters opening made her eyes flick open and she covered herself instinctively, relaxing as she saw a pair of horns above the railing.

“Bull! I need you to clean this for me. I…can’t.”

Bull let out a low laugh, the rumble of his voice making the cold chambers feel warmer than summer in Ostwick. “I’ve watched you run a man through with your sword and then kick him off your blade. You can’t clean it yourself?” Despite his words, he settled beside the tub and, sweeping her blonde hair over her shoulder, began to clean the dark stains off her fair skin. Lark closed her eyes, turning her head away from where he was working.

“It’s a different hurt than when someone else does it. Getting kebabbed on an Orlesian dagger was painful, but I couldn’t control it. If I can decide who gets to hurt me, it’s…less. Does that make sense?”

“Seems like some crap Cole would say.”

Laughing, Lark glanced at him. “Maybe he is a bad influence after all.” Silently, she watched his hands; she knew their strength, how much they had killed. But now they were caring, the only hands she trusted without a second thought. _It seems impossible to reconcile the two. But I guess I’m no different._ “Do you ever think about what you’ll do when we beat Corypheus?”

His hands still moved as he spoke. “The Chargers and I will have to find someone else that pays like Josephine. Shit, I think they’ve gotten spoiled here in Skyhold.”

“You might have to tear them away from the tavern.”

“Yeah, that’s about how most of our jobs end.” He straightened his back as he wrung out the rag. The water had begun to cool in the mountain air and Lark shivered as she watched the shadows dance across Bull’s face. “What about you, kadan? You gonna stay here to boss people around or find somewhere new?”

“I have to stay, don’t I? As much power as the Inquisition has gained, if I left it in the lurch it could wreak as much havoc as Corypheus.” Lark rose gingerly, her hand on Bull’s shoulder for balance. “Besides, I don’t know that I could just go back to Ostwick—my chambers weren’t nearly as nice as this. A few pride demons are worth these silk sheets!” He smiled, his hands firm on her bare waist, his gaze meeting hers evenly.

“Do you remember what I told you when we began? In here, you do not need to lead. Be honest with me.”

Lark tilted her head in contemplation; she hadn’t thought beyond killing Corypheus. A part of her always felt she wouldn’t survive it, either killed by the magister himself or the anchor. The rest had resigned herself to a life of being the Inquisitor, weighed down by the world’s problems and constantly fearing the next crisis.

“I want to see my family, my brothers. I want to go home and take you to the coast where I used to swim, the little cove where I took every old boyfriend and girlfriend. I want to feel like the lives of all of Thedas aren’t on my shoulders and that we can take even just a _moment_ to breathe. And honestly? I actually _do_ want to go to that seamstress Vivienne mentioned; even it was an insult she was right—I need better clothes.” Lark clamped down on her tongue, the words rapid and heated in the frigid room. Her jaw clenched and her dark green eyes narrowed at the thoughts that swam in her head, and she forced herself to grin, “All that provided I come out the other side, of course.”

Bull pulled back reflexively, then stood and lightly rubbed his thumb across her freckled cheek. “Don’t say that, kadan. It won’t be like that.” He cupped Lark’s face as he winked. “If you want to take me to some cove where you’ve carved the initials of half of the Free Marches, then we’ll go there.”

She laughed and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders; he lifted her from the basin, carrying her towards the bed. “Half the Free Marches? You’re one to talk. Besides, I didn’t _carve_ anything! It’s much more poetic to write it in the sand and watch it wash away in the waves.”

“Whatever. All I know is I expect a carving.”

“Kadan, I’ll carve your name on every cobblestone in Ostwick."


End file.
